Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not:
And thus most humbly I do take my leave.
[Exit][Enter JOHN MORTIMER and HUGH MORTIMER]
Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles,
You are come to Sandal in a happy hour;
The army of the queen mean to besiege us.

What talk you of debating? in few words,
If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king,
I'll leave you to your fortune and be gone
To keep them back that come to succor you:
Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title?